Gravel Patrol

Past the doorframe. Outside. The world widened. Wide stone slabs stretched under open daylight. Cool air, no walls. I kept low, scuttling along the masonry lip. At the border lay a bed of rounded river gravel. Dense. Grey, white, slate. I paused. Assessed the perimeter. One oval stone stood loose. Smooth texture. Cold surface. I advanced sideways, planted my rear walking legs, and gripped the stone with both pincers. Heavy. Solid. I rolled it two inches into an interlocking hollow between two larger rocks. It settled with a firm thud. Perimeter fortified. Ground secure.